Tommy's face grew very sober as he looked in, for all he saw was a box of
worms for bait and an old jacket.

"By George! we've got the wrong basket. This is Mullin's, and he's gone
off with our prog. Won't he be mad?"

"Not as mad as I am. Why didn't you look? You are always in such a hurry
to start. What _shall_ we do now without anything to eat?" whined
Billy; for losing his lunch was a dreadful blow to him.

"We shall have to catch some fish and eat blackberries. Which will you do,
old cry-baby?" said Tommy, laughing at the other boy's dismal face.

"I'll fish; I'm so tired I can't go scratching round after berries. I
don't love 'em, either." And Billy began to fix his line and bait his
hook.

"Lucky we got the worms; you can eat 'em if you can't wait for fish," said
Tommy, bustling about to empty the basket and pile up their few
possessions in a heap. "There's a quiet pool below here, you go and fish
there. I'll pick the berries, and then show you how to get dinner in the
woods. This is our camp; so fly round and do your best."

Then Tommy ran off to a place near by where he had seen the berries, while
Billy found a comfortable nook by the pool, and sat scowling at the water
so crossly, it was a wonder any trout came to his hook. But the fat worms
tempted several small ones, and he cheered up at the prospect of food.
Tommy whistled while he picked, and in half an hour came back with two
quarts of nice berries and an armful of dry sticks for the fire.